Down By the River
by Bronze Cat
Summary: She sits under the oak tree and she waits for him to come back from his wonderful, strange boarding school. Ten summers, ten moments between James Potter and the best friend he can never explain himself to. "In her own creepy world, there's a girl, there's a girl, and she's down by the river!" - Bubbles, Biffy Clyro *NOT James/OC*
1. 1969

The river is typical of any in this part of England. At this time of year, it should lie low in its bed but there has been heavy rainfall the past few days. It's swamped all the little stony beaches that run alongside it and the long fingers of the willow tree by the bridge trail in the water they should barely touch. The bridge itself is made of stone. It's the oldest thing for miles around; the point the village grew from some time in the Middle Ages.

A little girl stands on the bridge. She hoists herself up onto the wall and stares down into the murky water rushing underneath her before letting herself fall back onto the road with a sigh.

Three hours ago she was in London. Now she is in some piddly little village in the middle of nowhere. All her friends are back in London and all her favourite places are back there. Her wellie boot kicks the asphalt angrily and she trudges back into the centre of the village. Her dad is still talking with the nosy coffin-dodger who dashed from her house the second they pulled up outside the new place.

"Erica! Where have you been!" he says when he sees her.

"Just to see the bridge," she replies flatly and thrusts her hands into the pockets of her jeans. He stretches a hand out and ruffles her honey-blonde hair before sliding the hand down to her shoulder and pulling her in close.

"Hello luvvie!" the coffin-dodger coos. She glares at her and then turns the glare up to their new home.

She used to live in a beautiful white house with a wrought-iron gate and old sash windows. It had black and white tiles on the floor in the hall that she played hopscotch across when she was bored. Now she will live in a flat above a shop. She will have a bedroom half the size of her old one.

Because, for some strange reason her nine-year-old brain cannot fathom, her dad has decided that he did not like their lovely home in London and has bought a shop. A horrible, little corner shop in a piddly little village in the middle of nowhere. She dislikes the whole situation immensely.

"Erica," her dad says again, a dangerous tone creeping into his voice. She bares her teeth in a ridiculous simper at the coffin-dodger, who coos appropriately.

"Aww, luvvie," she says. "How old is she?"

Erica worms her way out of her dad's hold and runs off back to the bridge. There is a path running alongside the river that is intriguing her. She jumps over the fence and follows it. It leads along the riverbank for quite some way. She stops under an old oak tree just around the bend from the village. The path continues on for as far as she can see, winding between fields and hedgerows and following the river.

"Who are you?" a voice says curtly from behind her. She turns to see a boy her own age standing a few steps behind her. He's slightly taller than her, with messy, black hair and hazel eyes. He's also glowering at her like she's invaded some private space of his.

"I'm Erica. Erica Hudson. I've just moved here from London," she tells him.

"City Girl? Why would you move from a city like London to this place?"

"I didn't get much of a choice. It was Dad who wanted to move," she protests. He turns his nose up at her and takes a few steps towards her.

"Well, City Girl, this place down by the river is mine. Scram."

She does so.

* * *

><p>The school is tiny compared to her old one. Mum hasn't taken her to get a new school uniform yet so she feels like an idiot in her old one; a pleated skirt, a blazer and a tie. The other children are just wearing school jumpers over a white shirt and whatever bottoms they like. Most of the girls are in skirts while the boys are in jeans. They all stare at her as she walks in and is made to stammer her way through an introduction by the teacher.<p>

"I hope you will enjoy yourself here, Erica," the teacher says warmly when she finishes. "Why don't you take the seat there next to James and I will find you an exercise book."

As she shuffles over to her new seat, she realises it is next to the boy from down by the river. She perches on the chair and rests her hands on her lap.

"Hi again," she says nervously.

He looks at her and then faces forward without saying anything. She follows him around all day, all around the playground at break, slides onto the bench next to him at lunch, and finally follows him back across the village and down to the river again.

They sit next to each other under the oak tree without a word. She digs in her schoolbag and finds the bottle of bubble mix her mum gave her and begins to blow bubbles. They fly through the late afternoon air; some landing in the water and being swept away downstream, some making it over the river to the field beyond, and some are picked up and carried away by the wind.

"Why are you following me?" he asks eventually.

"Why not?" she replies and offers him the bubble wand. "I like it down here and I'll come here whether you like it or not."

And, just like that, they are best of friends. This place by the oak tree down by the river becomes theirs and they come here nearly every day.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello and welcome to my new story about James Potter's Muggle best friend! I hope you enjoyed it! :D I thought it would be interesting to see things from the perspective of a Muggle girl who has no idea about the Wizarding world.<strong>

**I listened to three songs almost on repeat while writing this. They are -**

_**Bubbles**_**- Biffy Clyro_Life on Mars _- David Bowie (which may appear in the course of the fic itself ;))  
><em>When You Break - <em>Bear's Den  
><strong>

****Please leave a review telling me what you thought!****


	2. 1970

"Seventy. Seventy one," James' voice calls across the grass.

Erica slips down the river bank and swears loudly; language she is certain a ten year old should never use. She dusts down her shorts and splashes through the river, her eyes flicking around wildly for a hiding place.

With nowhere else to go, and James getting closer to one hundred with every moment that passed, she leaps at the oak tree. Her wet trainers slip slightly on the bark but she holds on tightly and somehow manages to scramble safely up into the nest of branches.

She crouches down on a branch and peers through the leaves. James' tousled head moves through the meadow opposite. He looks up and grins when he sees her peeking through the leaves.

"Found you! How on earth did you get up there?" he asks.

She grins back and leans out, one hand clamped firmly around a branch so she doesn't fall.

"Magic," she says happily and laughs as he shakes his head. "Ain't you never climbed a tree before?"

"Never that one," he admits.

She pulls herself back and looks further up. She can climb higher, easily. Her fingers wriggle into the bark and she starts to climb again. Like a squirrel, she navigates each branch until she is nearly at the top.

"You should come down now," he calls. She giggles and leans out so she is dangling dangerously over the river.

"Ever been up this high?" she says. He folds his arms.

"No."

He's annoyed with her - she can tell. It's just like when she beat him in the race to the post box or when she climbed up the rock at the beach before him.

She laughs carelessly and reaches for the last branch. Except it suddenly isn't there. Her hand closes upon nothing just as her other slips from the bark of the tree and her scream of panic mixes with James' shout as she tumbles out into oblivion.

There's darkness and the cold of the river and a numb pain blossoming in her head. She tries to move, she tries, but nothing she does even moves a finger.

Then a pair of arms close around her and pull her from the water. Light and pain explode together and she sucks in great lungfuls of air.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she can hear James babbling somewhere around her.

"Merlin's beard, James! Calm down and tell me what happened!" a voice, presumably belonging to the one now carrying her, thunders.

There is a few gulps and coughs. "I was annoyed with her. She was climbing the oak tree and she could climb so much higher than me and I wanted her to stop and I think I made the branch Vanish and she fell and hit her head in the river! I didn't mean to, I just wanted her to stop and she wouldn't listen! I swear I've never used magic in front of her before, Dad, I swear! I'm sorry!"

"Alright, alright!" the new voice says. The intense brightness peering through her eyes dims and she hears a third voice, a woman's.

"James? Is that you back?"

The person carrying her lays her on something, a table she thinks, and she opens her eyes properly. A man is bending over her, a man in his mid-fifties with grey-streaked black hair and kind, hazel eyes.

He smiles at her.

"Don't worry, I'm a doctor," he says as the woman's voice comes closer, still calling for James.

"My goodness, Charlus! What's happened!"

"James made his friend fall by accident. This is Erica, her dad Paul runs the village shop."

Erica looks blearily up at the woman standing over her. She, like her husband, is in her mid-fifties; her grey and black hair up in a messy bun and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses balanced precariously on the end of her nose. She looks between her husband and Erica with panic.

"You mean she's a Muggle?" she gasps. "Charlus, she can't be here!"

She turns to James. "Sweetheart, I'm supposed to be going for a promotion at work! It won't look good to have you fraternising with Muggles!"

James sniffs again and scuffs at the tiled floor of the kitchen with his trainers.

"Honestly, Dorea. _Fraternising with Muggles? _You sound far too much like Cassiopeia and the rest of your family when you talk like that," Charlus mutters as he moves his finger back and forth in front of Erica's eyes. "She's mildly concussed. Nothing I can't Heal."

"I'm still going to have report it!" she hisses and leaves the room in a swirl of shawl and skirt.

Charlus rolls his eyes and focuses back on Erica.

"Whassa Muggle?" she asks.

"Never mind," he replies gruffly and lays a hand on her forehead. His palm goes warm for a second and her throbbing headache vanishes.

"Woah that was like magic," she says groggily. James and his dad exchange a cautious look before James silently fetches her a cup of water.

"I've spoken to my boss," Dorea says, coming back into the room. "He says to modify her memory and I'll deal with the paperwork, and the inevitable fallout, on Monday."

James' face crumples again. "Modify her memory?! How much? Can I still be her friend?"

"Of course you can. I will just take this afternoon. You still played Hide and Seek, but she didn't climb the tree," Charlus says to him.

"What are you talking about?" she asks. The three turn and look at her. Charlus smiles and takes a long, thin piece of wood out of a pocket.

"Dad, please," James chokes out. His father looks at him once more and he seems to be almost sorry for him.

"Everything's OK, Erica. You slipped and bumped your head when you were playing with James. He brought you back here and I patched you up and then we had tea," he says and points the piece of wood at her.

"That isn't what happened," she says, narrowing her eyes. James looks down at the floor and she glances between him, Charlus and Dorea.

Charlus sighs.

"I'm sorry, Erica. _Obliviate_."

* * *

><p><strong>Review please?<strong>


	3. 1971

"Ivy and June were in the shop earlier," Erica says "They told me about Brackenbrook. Apparently the older kids throw rubbish at you on the first day and the sixth formers just sit in their common room and drink and smoke all day."

She and James are in their favourite place underneath the oak tree. It's the last few weeks of August. Within a few weeks, they are going to be headed to secondary school. The idea of it terrifies Erica. Her private school in London believed firmly in small classes and the school in the village only has about one hundred pupils. Brackenbrook Academy has over a thousand. It is going to be quite a change.

"I think sixth formers are like that at any school," James says.

"And the rubbish?"

"Find out when you get there."

She completely misses the bitter tone in his voice. "What if we aren't in the same class? What if you make a load of new friends and go off and leave me with no-one?! We'll always be friends, won't we?"

He doesn't answer. "What's wrong?" she asks. He's hiding something from her, she's certain.

"I'm not going to Brackenbrook. I'm going to my mum and dad's old school."

That tiny revelation is like a knife in her heart. She tries to act nonchalant.

"Oh. Where is it? Is it local?"

"No, it's in Scotland. It's a boarding school."

She leaps to her feet and takes a few steps back. James can't bring himself to look at her.

"I'll see you at Christmas," he says a bit lamely.

"How long have you known?" she asks.

"Ages. My name's been down from birth. I got my letter of confirmation when I turned eleven," he tells her. The knife twists.

"_Your birthday was in March!"_ she screams. "You've listened to me panic about going to Brackenbrook! I've been so scared that we wouldn't be together there and you've known all along that you _aren't even going!"_

He doesn't say anything, just stares at the river in front of him.

She suddenly realises that she is about to cry. She doesn't want to cry in front of him over something so silly so she turns and runs.

"Erica, wait!" he calls after her but she doesn't stop. She runs all the way back to the bridge, back to the shop, and falls against the doorframe with a couple of stifled sobs. _Stop it, stop it, stop it,_ she thinks bitterly and angrily wipes the tears from her eyes. Up the stairs to the flat she goes and, after washing her hands, takes a seat at the table. Her dad spoons some casserole onto her plate and she picks up a fork and prods it.

"Been out with James again? You two really are inseparable. You aren't going to cope at Brackenbrook Academy in the autumn; the likelihood of you being put in the same class is quite slim you know," her mother says.

"James isn't going to Brackenbrook," she replies, pushing her peas around the plate now.

"Ah, well, at least you will see him after school," her dad says brightly.

"He's going to a boarding school in Scotland."

Her parents pause and exchange a look.

"That's a shame for you. But I'm sure you'll make lots of new friends at Brackenbrook," her dad says with enthusiasm.

"Can't I go to boarding school? Can't I go to James' school?" she asks.

"No, sweetheart, we don't have the money to send you to boarding school," he dad says.

"We used to," she mutters into her plate. Her dad lays his cutlery down very carefully.

"And we don't anymore," he says stiffly. "We tried to explain it to you. The amount of pressure I was under in London caused me to get ill. This move was necessary for me to get better; we just had to make a few sacrifices."

"I know. It just sucks that I can't be with my best friend at school," she snaps back.

"That's enough, Erica," her mum says suddenly. "Go to your room."

She stomps off, slams her door, and spends the rest of the night sobbing into her pillow.

* * *

><p>September 1st dawns bright and chilly. Erica slowly dresses in the blue and white uniform of Brackenbrook and manages to smile as her mum snaps a few photographs. Her mum won't stop gushing about her baby girl growing up and her dad has a stupid smile on his face. She throws on her rucksack and leaves the flat to catch the bus into town.<p>

Halfway across the village square, a voice calls out.

"Hey, Erica!"

She turns and see James hanging out the window of Charlus' car. She walks over reluctantly.

"Is it your first day at Brackenbrook?" he asks. She nods and looks past him to the backseat. Next to him is a large trunk, no doubt filled with his school things, and for some reason an owl in a cage. Must be some weird boarding-school tradition.

"Are you off to this fancy-pants boarding school?" she asks.

He grins. "Yup, can't wait. You've got it easy though, you're only on the bus for twenty minutes. Dad's got to drive me to London to get the train. I won't get to Hogwarts until the evening."

Charlus winds his window down.

"And we need to get the train by eleven and we are already running late!" he says. "Sorry, Erica, but we really have to be going."

James looks at her with an apology in his eyes. "Good luck today," he says. "And I'll see you at Christmas, yeah?"

"Yeah," she nods. "Good luck to you too."

He sits back inside the car and Charlus drives off. James turns and waves at her through the rear view window. She gives one wave back and then turns round to see the bus pulling into the square.

James has left for his new school, now she has to go to hers.

She takes a deep breath and walks towards it, desperately wishing that she was in the car now headed for London.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to ArchangelInTheTardis for the first review and yuki0123 for the follow. More reviews are always welcome, guys! I'd love to know what you are thinking so far!<strong>


	4. 1972

_Seventy two. Seventy three._

She sits under the oak tree and she waits. Her knees are drawn up to her chin and her fingernails are digging into her arms. She hasn't seen James since the end of last summer. She didn't get to see him at Christmas. She had to go back to London to see her much richer and snobbier cousins, and now she can't wait to see her best friend again. She's missed him so much.

She's counting to one hundred. He's late so she is counting to one hundred for something to do.

_Ninety. Ninety one. Nine-_

"Hello, stranger!" a voice calls from upriver. Her eyes fly open and her head whips round. She smiles and stretches out her legs.

"Hey," she says as he sits down next to her. There is a small moment of silence as they study each other. It's only been since last summer but it could have been all the time in the world.

He doesn't look much different to her. His hair is slightly longer and even more unruly than before. It sticks up all funny at the back. His hazel eyes are as sharp as ever but now they have an extra air of mischief to them.

She looks completely different to him. She's grown out her honey-blonde bob and the curls fall against her shoulders. She was always skinny but she somehow seems even thinner. Her face is far too angular for a girl of her age. What's most horrible to him is the way her smile does not quite reach her eyes.

"What's Scotland like?" she asks eventually. He grins.

"You would hate it," he said. "It rains so much and you always moan when it rains. And you would hate the snow, City Girl."

She shudders and he laughs.

"It's not all bad. The castle grounds are great when it's sunny," he admits. Her mouth falls open and she leans forward.

"You never said it was a castle!" she says.

"Oh. Didn't I?" he frowns and lifts a hand to rumple his hair. She frowns. He looks stupid doing that. She blinks as she realises he's been talking to her, telling her all about the school.

"...And I've got some great friends. You'd get on with my best mate, Sirius. He's quite a lot like you sometimes. And the teachers are OK, especially the..."

He pauses like he's thinking for the right word.

"...The gym teacher," he finally decides. "The gym teacher, Madam Hooch. She knows her stuff. I think I might try out for my House team when I get back."

"Team for what?" she says. "Not football, you are hopeless! This Madam Hooch must be magical if you can now play football!"

His mouth twitches and suddenly he's laughing and rolling across the grass.

"What?" she demands. "What?!"

"Nothing," he chuckles and sits up. "It's not football. It's a special sport we play at school. You wouldn't get it; the rules are too complicated."

She pouts and gives him a playful kick.

"Fine. Keep your special game and your special school," she says with only a hint of bitterness.

"So, what's your school like? You went to Brackenbrook Academy, right?" he asks. Something flickers across her face and she draws her knees back up under her chin.

"S'OK. It's school. I bet it's not as interesting as boarding school in a castle in Scotland," she says with a grin. He takes the bait and goes off again on another tale. He tells her about the lake and the greenhouses and the Great Hall and the dormitory he shared with his friends.

She can't tell him about Brackenbrook. He was her only friend at their primary school in the village. She never made time for the other children and they did not forget it when they moved up to secondary. She had not made time for them so now they did not make time for her. She can't tell him how she sits by herself at the back of the class. How she has to wait for the teacher to pair them up for group work as nobody volunteers to be her partner. How she leaves the house as late as possible in the mornings so she does not have to stand by herself at the bus-stop while everyone else chats with their friends. How she sits in the stairwell at lunchtime so she doesn't have to find a table by herself in the canteen.

How she rushes home at the end of the day and how, with a noncommittal grunt at her father about her day, she rushes straight out again to come down here to the oak tree down by the river. And how she sits on the riverbank and counts to one hundred.

Because for every hundred she counts, she gets a little bit closer to being back to him. She is a little closer to not being alone.


	5. 1973

This is the first time that he has ever beaten her to the river. Even when they came down here as little kids, Erica would race ahead of him and throw herself at the foot of the oak tree. She was waiting for him last year when he got back from Hogwarts. She had been so pleased to see him and had begged for every detail about his school.

He doesn't understand why she wasn't waiting now. The sun moves slowly across the sky and she still doesn't show. It isn't until late evening when he decides to give up and go home. She'll appear tomorrow.

But she doesn't.

He waits for her again. All morning, beneath the oak tree, he sits and he waits. He runs home to wolf down a sandwich and then runs back but she still isn't there. Where could she be?

Her dad owns the village shop. Maybe he'll know where his wayward daughter is.

The shop somehow manages to be stiflingly cramped while also being overly-lit and freezing from the clunky freezer units at the back. Erica's dad is reading a newspaper behind the till but he looks up as James enters.

"No fags, no booze and you even think about shoplifting and I'll box your ears," he snarls. James flinches and holds up his palms in a mock show of defeat.

"I'm looking for Erica?" he says and Paul squints at him properly.

"Good grief. James, is that you?"

"Guilty as charged," he grins.

Paul nods. "Barely recognised you, son. Didn't know you were back from school; her Majesty hasn't said a word. She's upstairs in her room."

James nods his thanks and pushes through the curtain behind the counter. He weaves through the stockroom, climbs the staircase at the back, says a quick hello to Erica's mum and then knocks on Erica's bedroom door.

The door cracks open an inch and one of Erica's eyes glares at him. He grins. The half of her mouth he can see twists down and she slams the door.

"Oh come on, Erica!" he shouts and pounds a fist on the door. "What have I done to deserve this?"

There is a sniff from the other side. He tries the door handle and is surprised to find that it turns. Erica is sitting on her bed at the far end of the room with her knees drawn up tight against her chest. He barely notices this; he's too busy staring at the paintings covering the wall of her room directly opposite the door. Everything single one is all dark and twisted. She's only thirteen but she paints like a morose Salvador Dali, if such a thing is possible.

He focuses on the figure in each painting. It's a little girl with blonde hair and a bright white dress. She ventures through each painting, running and hiding from the nightmares above her. In some, she has a companion. A happy, dark-haired Pan-like figure who takes her hand and protects her from the nightmares and in those she seems happy. In most though, she has no-one.

"Christ, Erica. What are these?" he asks. She looks up, tears snail-trailing across her cheeks.

"My paintings. Dad reckons I need a therapist," she laughs tearfully.

"Why, in the name of Merlin's saggiest pants, would you paint like this?" he demands. She frowns.

"Merlin's saggy pants? Where did you pick that up?"

"Don't change the subject. Why do you paint stuff like this?" he asks.

"Because it helps."

"Helps with what?!"

"Being lonely."

And with that, her bottom lip begins to shake and she buries her face in her arms again. He sits next to her gingerly.

"I had no idea you were lonely," he says softly and she makes an angry noise.

"Of course you didn't. You are too busy having a wonderful time at Hogwarts with Sirius and Remus and... and..."

"Peter," he says helpfully and she throws him a horrible look.

"Yes, Peter," she spits. "Your mum tells me all about your wonderful new friends when she comes in the shop and then she has to ask _me_ about _my _new friends and I have to laugh airily and make up some drivel because everyone at school _hates_ me..."

She breaks down into sobs again.

"For goodness sake, Erica, don't be so pathetic," he says shortly. "My best friend isn't such a drip."

She kicks him angrily for that and he grins and tussles back.

She's at the oak tree the next day and, although it takes a lot of coaxing to bring her old spark back, they spend the summer together as if nothing is different.

When September comes around, he says something strange. "In a few days, check your windowsill."

After a few days, she does and is surprised to find a letter there. It's odd, made of parchment for one, but when she opens it she recognises James' handwriting.

_Write me a reply and put it back on the windowsill, _he has written. _I promise I'll get it and send you another. _

She leaves her reply on the windowsill and it vanishes mysteriously in the night. Then, miraculously, a reply from James appears. Somehow, throughout the year, they keep writing to each other. He tells her all about school and his friends (there is even once a scrawled note from Sirius asking if this was James' girlfriend - something she denies fiercely) and she tells him about life back home and draws him little pictures. She has no idea how the letters are going between them.

Her cousin, who comes to stay for one incredibly dull weekend, wakes her up one night screaming about an owl swooping at the window.

But that's just stupid.

* * *

><p><strong>Review maybe?<strong>


	6. 1974

Erica frowns slightly. How long has this been going on for? She really isn't enjoying it.

She almost gags as James' tongue brushes hers again and pulls back hurriedly. Once again, she almost gags as she sees the long string of spit trailing between their mouths. He swats it away hurriedly.

"So, why did you want to kiss me?" she asks after an awkward pause. He reddens and sits back.

"No reason."

Her eyes narrow. "Come on. Tell me."

He is very red now.

"Jaaaaaaaaaaaames," she wheedles. When he doesn't answer, she folds her arms and pouts.

"Fine," she snaps. "I'm going home; I'll consider your yearning passion for me overnight."

"No!" he says hurriedly as she makes to stand. "I don't fancy you. I - I - it's someone at school. I like a girl at school."

She drops back down onto the grass with interest but decides to play it cool.

"And you thought what? The idea of kissing another girl would whip her into a frenzy of jealousy and send her leaping into your arms?" she says drily and he blushes even harder.

"No! I just thought... I just thought I'd..."

"James Potter, if you say you just wanted to get some practice in then I will rip you a new one," she says darkly. It is a wonder that James' head has not exploded, it is so red.

She decides to put him out of his misery and leans back. Some of her hair falls into eyes and she flips it back nonchalantly.

"So, tell me about her," she says. "Who is this mystery woman who's captured your heart?"

"Her name's Lily. Lily Evans," he says gruffly.

"Ooh pretty. When can I meet her? Can I be a bridesmaid? Will it be a June wedding?" she asks, scooting close to him. She bats her eyelashes at him and pouts. He glares at her and shoves her away.

"Nothing is ever gonna happen. She hates me," he says.

"Uh, why?" she says. "If you stepped in my school then the girls would be all over you like a rash. This Lily an evil witch or something?"

He grins. "Nah. I've just been a bit of a tosser to her."

He lifts a hand and ruffles his hair. She slaps his hand down. "Don't do that. It makes you look like a tosser."

She shuffles round so she is facing him and examines him critically. It's actually quite difficult to see him as Not-James. He is good-looking, she knows that, she just has never considered him as someone to fancy. Maybe it's because she knows him so well that she thinks this. They even just shared a kiss and she was completely repulsed by it.

All the village girls fancy him. He's the mysterious rich boarding school kid now. Recently, they have been trying to suck up to her to get to him. It's quite funny really. Ivy and June, the worst two, actually tried to follow her down to the river today. Luckily, they had decided to wear the most inappropriate footwear for walking along river paths ever. Ivy took a tumble and that was it.

Erica thinks about her other experiences with guys. Someone kissed her at a school dance just before summer started. He had just grabbed her and tried to stick his tongue down her throat. She had taken a dim view of it.

At least, she thinks now, James is a better kisser than that guy. She still has no idea what girls see in him and she is finding it rather funny that the one girl he likes seems to dislike him. However, she is his best friend and she is female so she feels duty-bound to offer him the best advice she can.

"Maybe you should try being nice to her," she suggests eventually. "And stop ruffling your hair so it sticks up at the back."

He grunts and deliberately ruffles his hair.

"Seriously, Erica, tell me something I don't know."

"Shut up, tosser."

* * *

><p><strong>Apologies for the shortness of this chapter.<strong>

**Thank you to ArchangelInTheTardis for your continued reviewing and thank you to everyone who has followed and favourited so far. :)**


	7. 1975

Erica slumps against the trunk of the oak tree and reaches in her bag for her cigarettes. Her dad hates the smell of them and won't let her smoke in the flat or the shop. Not that that stops her. Next time he bothers to attempt to clear the gutters he is going to find all her stubs from her illicit puffs hanging out her bedroom window.

She lights the cigarette and exhales the first puff with a sigh. It's her tenth one today.

As her smoke drifts across the river, she wonders if James' school has kids like her. She finally found a group of people she gets on with. They sit behind the bike sheds and smoke between, and occasionally during, lessons. They discuss music and art and philosophy and other things that she doesn't quite understand. She doesn't understand a lot of things, unless it's to do with art. She's getting better at music. Philosophy, no chance.

The leader of their little gang is Tony. Erica is painfully aware that Tony fancies her but she has ignored all his advances. He occasionally smokes stronger stuff than cigarettes and he is trying to get her to try it too. He also agrees with everything she says and that irritates her.

Every time he nods and brays in agreement, she pictures James shaking his head and telling her to shut up. It helps quite a bit.

"Hey!" James' voice calls and she looks round as she takes the final draw of the cigarette. There he is, once again. She scrambles to her feet and throws her arms around him.

"You're taller than me!" she complains.

"I've always been taller than you!" he laughs.

"Yeah, but now you are definitely taller than me," she points out. He is at least six inches taller than her now. That is most irritating. She flops back down onto the grass by the river and reaches into her bag for her cigarettes again. He looks appalled when she offers him one.

"Please tell me you don't smoke," he says, sitting next to her.

She lets the cigarette dangle off her lip and searches for her lighter. "Yah."

"Why?"

With a clink, she flips open her lighter and lights the cigarette. She takes a deep drag and then blows the smoke at James.

"Because I am a tortured and rebellious teenager fighting to hold onto a shred of individuality in this sea of provincial country tedium," she says dramatically.

He examines her critically. She's wearing jeans and one of her dad's old t-shirts. Her hair has been cut short again but it is still its natural honey blonde colour. This, coupled with her bright blue eyes, hardly makes her look like a tortured teenage soul. He snorts. She narrows her eyes at him. It's good to be together again.

"Sooooo, how have things been going with Lily?" she asks coyly. "Your letters have been extremely empty of details."

"I think she may have accidentally smiled at me once this year when Sirius and myself disrupted our Herbology lesson," he said dismissively.

She raises an eyebrow. "Herbology? What the hell is that?"

"Basically gardening."

She snorts loudly. "A super fancy boarding school in Scotland and they make you go to a _gardening class. _Oh well, at least it is giving you a special appreciation of flowers. Lilies in particular, I imagine."

He glares at her but she is on a roll.

"_And it was first in Herbology that I clapped eyes upon the fairest flower of them all, the Lily,"_ she says dramatically. "_Our eyes met across a steamy greenhouse and thus began the greatest love affair ever known..."_

She collapses on the grass, giggling manically. He rolls his eyes and waits for her to finish.

"I actually met her on the train to Hogwarts," he says stiffly and she rolls over with fresh peals of laughter.

"_Twas on the train to our beloved school that first I saw her. A pale flower of purest white, delicate but with a proud strength that spoke of an inner beauty to outshine her outer!"_ she wheezes. He looks very unimpressed.

"How on earth did you come up with that tripe," he says flatly.

"Mum's trashy novellas. God, you should read some of the descriptions in there. _His emerald orbs gazed at her sorrowfully_ - for crying out loud, just call them eyes!" she says, taking a drag on her cigarette. She narrows her eyes at him. "When you have kids, promise you will name one after me."

"I'm flattered that you think I have that much of a chance with her," he says. She points the cigarette at him.

"You will. And then you will have a baby Eric or Erica and you and Mrs Lily Potter shall move here and let me paint a beautiful mural to your everlasting love upon the nursery wall."

"You are insufferable," he says and gives her a shove. With a shriek, she rolls down the river bank and lands in the river with a splash. She rises from the water like a creature from the depths, more hurt over the extinguished cigarette than being soaked to the skin, and screaming all sorts of abuse she latches onto his ankles. She yanks him down into the river and laughs as he flounders in the cold.

They both freeze as they hear another voice. A rather shrill voice.

"I heard screaming from this way! Come on, she's always down here by the river with James."

"Shit, that's Ivy," Erica mutters and hauls James out the water. "Shift before she gets here and drools over you."

She shoves him towards the far bank and they scramble up it and into the field beyond. By the time Ivy and June reach the oak tree by the river bend, all that is left behind is Erica's bag and two heads, one honey blonde and one black-haired, running across the field in the distance.

* * *

><p><strong>If this story was pulled to modern times instead of the Seventies, I think Erica would be such a hipster. :D<strong>

**Reviews maybe? It is almost Christmas after all. :P**


	8. 1976

"You'll like Erica," James says for the tenth time. "She's like a female version of you."

Sirius snorts and lies back on the grass. "If you say so. Is she pretty?"

"Oh so sensitive as always, Padfoot."

"Well? Is she?"

James shifts uneasily and throws an unspoken plea for help to Remus. His other best friend grins back; he's not going to change the subject.

"I suppose she is. In a skinny, angry sorta way," he admits.

"Not as good as Evans then," Sirius says snidely and he and Remus chuckle. James internally groans.

He has been both looking forward to and dreading this day; the day when both half of his friends meet. He has warned them both that Erica knows very little about their school and what they learn there and he severely hopes they don't say anything silly. His dad has already Modified Erica's memory once; he shouldn't have to do it again.

He sits up straight as Erica appears around the bend from the village. She throws herself down on the grass, rootles in her bag for a cigarette and looks round at the three boys staring at her.

"Ciggie?" she says offering them the carton.

"What have you done to your hair?" James demands.

"I bleached it," she says, pushing some of the white-blonde strands out of her face as she searches for her lighter.

"You look like what's-'is-face who was a few years above us," James says. "Luscious Locks Malfoy."

"Nah, she looks like my cousin Narcissa," Sirius says.

"The mental one?" Remus asks.

"That's Bellatrix. Narcissa is the one who glides around like she has a stick up her arse," Sirius says dismissively.

"And what's that red stuff round your mouth?" James barks at Erica. She raises her hands defensively.

"Lipstick. Christ, do girls not wear make-up at your school?"

"They do, they just don't look like idiots. This is more of that tortured individualist rubbish, isn't it?"

"Oh shut up, tosser."

"Make me, City Girl. You look awful."

"Uh, I don't think so."

"Well, you're wrong."

"My goodness, Moony, I do believe we have wandered into a lover's tiff!" Sirius says, raising an eyebrow. Erica lights her cigarette, blow the first drag out with a sigh of relief, and then fixes Sirius with one of the best evil eyes he has ever seen. James does not look too happy either.

"So, which one are you?" Erica asks bluntly.

"I, oh fair one, am Sirius, eldest son of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black," Sirius says with a lopsided grin. "This is our annoyingly intelligent friend, Remus Lupin, who unfortunately has a rather embarrassing little furry problem."

Remus waves at her merrily.

"I believe you may have met James at some point beforehand," Sirius continues, "and the fourth member of our dastardly gang, a Mister Peter Pettigrew, has been press-ganged into a caravanning holiday in Bognor Regis by his overbearing mother and so cannot join us on this particular occasion."

"Right," Erica says slowly. She looks extremely unimpressed with them. "Is it a mandatory requirement of your school that you all have stupid names?"

"I don't have a stupid name!" James says heatedly. She raises her eyebrows at him.

"Your middle name is Charlus."

"OK, fair point," he admits, scratching his chin. "So, what do you guys want to do?"

* * *

><p>"We're out of vodka," Sirius slurs.<p>

Somehow they have staggered across the river to the field. They are lying in a circle, head-to-head, and staring up at the sky. All four of them are rather drunk. At James' suggestion, Erica had snuck back to the shop and lifted a couple of bottles of the stronger stuff her dad sells. And now she's lying on her back with the alcohol surging through her like she's sinking into a warm bath.

She was liking James' friends more with a few drinks inside her. Remus is funny and Sirius is hot. Really hot.

"Already? What?" she complains. "But we had a new bottle!"

A silver flask appears above her head. She takes it from the hand offering it and takes a tentative sip. The liquid inside fills her with fire and burns her throat. She bolts upright.

"Imma be sick," she grunts and staggers towards the river.

The boys listen to her vomit.

"What was that?" James asks.

"My dad's fifty year old Firewhisky. Must be off. Or the Muggle can't handle her finer liquors," Sirius says, peering into the flask. He tastes it and gags. "Fucking Regulus must have switched it. This is piss-poor stuff."

"I thought we weren't supposed to say the M-word around her," Remus says.

"I think she's drunk enough that I could turn into a dog in front of her and she wouldn't care," Sirius says.

"Don't do that," James says. "Dad would kill me."

Erica stumbles back to them and throws herself back onto the grass. When asked how she is feeling, she moans and drags her hair over her face. "Ugh, I feel disgusting. Any whisky left?"

"I need it," Remus says, hugging the bottle. "Little furry problems."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Moony, hand over the whisky. It's not your time of the month and some people need the alcohol more," Sirius growls.

"Lily's never going to go to Madam Puddifoot's with me, is she?" James moans morosely. Erica peers round at him and is surprised to see he is genuinely upset. He must really like this Lily girl.

"No, because it's crap. Marlene tried to make me go when we were dating," Sirius tells him, swigging at the whisky bottle.

"You did try to pull down her best friend's pants," Remus says. "I mean, one minute, there we were by the lake, then he was up in the air, then _poof,_ down came Snivelly's underwear."

"And then he called her a fucking Mudblood!" James howled. "Fucking Snivellus. At least he's not following her around like a greasy puppy dog anymore."

"Oh sweet Merlin's beard, will you shut up about Evans for one minute!" Sirius howls. "Erica, please take him into the bushes and give him a pity shag, for crying out loud."

"Piss off!" she yowls and sits up again. "Why do you three complain so much? You get to leave your lives at home behind and go to _boarding school. _I'd kill for that! I think if I couldn't go to the record shop and listen to Bowie and The Who then I think I'd die."

"The Who? Who's Bowie?" James says. She stares at him.

"You don't know who David Bowie is? How out of touch is your school? Are you medieval or something?" she demands.

"Well, it is funny you should say that actually," Sirius begins but for some reason she has decided to sing at them. They are not sure why she is trying to sing to them and so decide to just go with it.

"_It's a god-awful small affair," _she trills. "_To the girl with the mousy hair."_

"But you don't have mousy hair," Remus interjects. She ignores him, ploughing her way on through the song.

"_But her mummy is yelling "No!" And her daddy has told her to go! But her friend is nowhere to be seen!" _she sings, climbing to her feet and kicking James in the process.

"Merlin's beard, I think she thinks the song is about her," he mutters, rubbing his knee. The boys sit up and watch her reel across the field, singing quite happily. She veers dangerously close to the river but doesn't fall, instead throwing her hands up to scream "_Is there life on Mars?!"_

They stand up and lurch after her. With a happy sigh, she flings her arms around James and Sirius' shoulders. Tonight has been good. Even her father's thunderous face as he finds her throwing up on the hall carpet can mar this memory. A memory of her, her best friend and his school-friends having just one night to be ordinary teenagers in whatever mess of a life they have been dealt.

* * *

><p><strong>Obviously, I do not own the lyrics to <em>Life on Mars.<em> Blah blah, disclaimer stuff. As always, leave me a review? Pretty please?**


	9. 1977

"Just leave me alone!" Erica shrieks and pushes Tony away. Since leaving school, he has upped his attempts in getting her attention. That's all he's really done, besides smoke way too many cigarettes.

Erica, on the other hand, is flourishing for what feels like the first time in her life. She managed decent enough grades that she was allowed into the sixth form at Brackenbrook where she is studying A-Levels in Art and English. Her favourite teacher is taking her for Art and says she could even possibly go to a decent college afterwards. She finally feels like she knows what she is doing with her life.

Tony does not feature in these plans. Unfortunately, he thinks he should.

"Come on, Erica," he says now, grabbing her wrist. "I know you've liked me for years."

"No, I don't! Just go, I want some time to myself!" she snarls and yanks her wrist from his grip. She stalks down the path to the oak tree down by the river and he, annoyingly, follows her. Other people aren't supposed to come down here. This is her place, her special place for her and James, and she hates it when other people are down here.

"And why do you want time to yourself?" he growls as he follows her.

"I'm wearing all black, can you think of a reason?" she snaps.

* * *

><p>A few days ago, someone ran into the shop to say that Charlus and Dorea Potter were dead. She had felt like a little hand had closed around her heart and squeezed. The Potters had always been friendly to her and Charlus always chatted to her when he came to the shop.<p>

She had been to their funeral earlier today, slipping in at the back of the church at the start of the service. She had seen James and Sirius at the very front. Sirius had even looked round as she entered and given her a tiny nod. There had been many people at their funeral; many strangely dressed people. They all wore cloaks and long robes unlike anything she had seen before. Some gave readings, some spoke about what a wonderful healer Charlus was (the use of that word confused Erica; she knew he was a doctor but why say healer?) and what a respected individual Dorea was in the Ministry (she didn't know Dorea worked for the Government; she wondered which Ministry it was).

At the end of the service, she had wondered if she should approach James. He looked devastated.

A man had walked over to her then. He was taller than she, with a big long beard that tucked into his belt and blue twinkly eyes behind his half-moon spectacles.

"You knew the Potters?" he asked after a few moments.

She smiled at him and nodded. "I'm friends with their son. Did you work with them?"

"Oh, no, no. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am Headmaster of James' school. You would be Erica, am I correct? You have written to James at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir. If I'm honest, I have no idea how. I've never posted a letter to him in my life," she said. She turned and looked at James. "I wonder if I should say something to him."

"I would leave him be for now. Words of comfort will do little for him while his grief is so raw. Leave him to the memories of his parents. I am sure he will find you when he is ready to talk," the older man had advised. "He does care for you greatly, you know."

* * *

><p>That had been around midday. She had wanted to come down to the river this evening to see if he would appear. Tony's appearance was not something she had factored in. The boy was like a bloody pestilence.<p>

"Look, Erica, just give me a chance," he wheedles now, stroking her back. She shudders and scans the surrounds for any signs of James. Nothing.

Then Tony grabs her and roughly shoves her against the oak tree. "I said, give me a chance!" he snarls.

"No!" she gasps and tries to push him off. That only makes him more determined and he has to cover her mouth to stop her screaming. As she starts to panic, there is a loud braying call and he stops. He turns slowly and Erica sees over his shoulder a stag and a huge bear-like black dog up the path.

The stag brays again and takes a step forward. The dog is growling loudly; its hackles raised and its hair on end.

"What?" Tony gasps. The stag charges for them. Tony lets go of her and she drops to the ground. She covers her head with her arms and sobs as there is a scream from Tony and another bray from the stag. There is a crash and then the pounding of fleeing feet.

A snuffling noise comes from her left and a cold, wet sensation pressing against her arm. She looks up and sees the big dog. It wags its tail and licks the tears from her face. She giggles and it pulls its head back and barks happily. She strokes it tentatively and laughs as it bounds away and splashes in the river.

It barks again at something upstream river and she turns to see the stag. It stares at her as the dog lollops towards it. The dog barks for a final time and, with the dog's tail wagging madly, the two turn and vanish into the evening.

* * *

><p><strong>Do stags bray? After a discussion with my flatmate, we concluded that the best description of a stag's noise was either bray or trumpet and the latter didn't fit right.<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Two more to go. ;)**

**Review maybe?**


	10. 1978

_**But you've been crying out for forever**_  
><em><strong> But forever's come and gone<strong>_  
><em><strong> You keep begging for forgiveness<strong>_  
><em><strong> But you don't think you've done wrong<strong>_  
><em><strong> You've been crying out for forever<strong>_  
><em><strong> Forever's come and gone<strong>_  
><em><strong> My bleeding hands, my shaking head<strong>_

_** So tell me another beautiful lie**_  
><em><strong> Tell me everything I want to hear<strong>_  
><em><strong> Won't you lay here by my side?<strong>_  
><em><strong> I want to fuck away all my fear<strong>_

**_When You Break - _Bear's Den**

* * *

><p>"<em>How would you describe your artistic aesthetic? Which famous artists do you admire? How would you say your own personal aesthetic has been influenced by their works?"<em>

Erica stares at the form in front of her. Um, what was her personal aesthetic? Weird? Colourful? She has no idea.

The bell above the shop door rings and she looks up and smiles at the pretty red-head who's entered. Then she looks back down at the form. If she wants to go to this art college in London then she is going to have to get it done. She already has no idea what she is going to put in the portfolio she has to send in too.

The red-headed customer has finished collecting her items and approaches the counter to pay. Erica examines her more carefully as she places the basket on her counter. She really is very pretty, with long, red hair down to her waist and emerald green eyes. She smiles nervously at Erica as the latter begins to scan her items.

"You are Erica, aren't you?" she asks and Erica stares at her.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"My name's Lily."

Her jaw drops. "Fuck. You're here? That must mean... Dear God, you are actually dating James? Why? You are way prettier than I thought!"

Lily laughs and looks down at her hands folded neatly on the counter between them. "Thank you. You aren't exactly what I expected either."

She grins and runs a hand through her white-blonde hair. "So what are you doing here?"

"Just passing through. I wanted to see where James grew up. And meet you. You know he talks about you all the time?"

She shrugs and packs the food into carrier bags. "No. But we did kinda only have each other growing up. And I bugged the hell out of him until he started writing me letters when I went through a rough patch a few years ago. "

Lily nods and then looks like she wants to say more. Erica rings up the total in the silence and watches as Lily fiddles for the money.

"You don't know about us? Do you?" Lily blurts as Erica gets her change. She looks at her quizzically.

"Huh?"

"I just thought, because James wrote to you all the time, that you must know about us," she explains, reddening. "I thought he must have told you about our school."

"Yeah. Hogwarts. It's a boarding school in Scotland. Sounds pretty cool if I'm honest. I met your headmaster last year at James' parents' funeral and he looked way more awesome than mine," she says slowly. Lily grins again but this time it is awkward.

"I just thought he would have told you..." she says slowly. "I'll see you around, I guess."

Erica nods and watches her leave. What on earth was she talking about?

* * *

><p>Her dad comes down to relieve her and she goes upstairs to stare blankly at a canvas. Finish form, finish portfolio, move to London to become tortured artist. That is her life plan.<p>

If only she could get something down on canvas.

Someone knocks on her door and she looks round. James grins and waves.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," she replies, laying down her paintbrush.

He walks in and leans against her wardrobe. "So, you met Lily," he says.

"She's pretty," she says and looks at him with raised eyebrows. "Too pretty for you."

"Thanks!" he says indignantly. "But, you liked her?"

"For the two minutes I met her."

He nods. "Good, good. Because, well, I'm going to marry her."

She stares at him. "Christ, you haven't knocked her up, have you?"

"No, nothing like that!" he says hurriedly. "I just know that I love her and with the way the world is moving... well, you know."

She thinks. To her, the world seems like it always has. Slightly crap.

"What is wrong with the world?" she asks. Now it is his turn to stare at her.

"You really don't know? There's been no word, no whispers?" he asks. He almost looks scared and she is getting the same feeling Lily gave her in the shop below.

"James, you are scaring me. What's wrong, are you in some kind of trouble?" she asks.

"No. The world is just getting slightly scary, that's all."

He's lying and she can tell that he knows she knows he's lying. He grins suddenly.

"Anyway, we should be celebrating. I'm getting married!"

She smiles. "Yeah, congratulations! She does seem lovely."

"I actually came here to ask you something. Sirius is going to be my best man but we need two witnesses. Would you be a bridesmaid?" he asks.

"Wouldn't Lily want someone from her family?" she says with a frown.

"She doesn't really talk to them anymore. Her sister's just got engaged to a real arsehole and he's done a brilliant job of severing the final ties between them. You've always been like a sister to me so we thought we'd ask you," he tells her.

She stands and throws her arms around him. "In that case, of course I'll be a bridesmaid," she says and he hugs her tight.

* * *

><p>Lily's dress is white and lacy. She bought it in a charity shop in London and it makes her look like an angel. They are getting ready in Erica's bedroom and Erica is terrified that some of her art supplies are going to end up over the white dress.<p>

Lily insists that it is fine and sits in front of Erica's mirror to push and pull her hair about.

"Ugh, I don't have a clue what I'm going to do with this," she says, sweeping the red expanse of her hair into a rough top-knot. "Why can't I have hair like you?"

That throws Erica. She steps behind Lily and stares at her own reflection over the top of Lily's head. Her hair is barely touching her shoulders and is still fragile from the last touch-up of her roots. Sure, the colour is unusual, what with being white-blonde, but it's really nothing compared to Lily's waist length fiery tresses.

"My colour is dyed, yours is completely natural. I know a dozen girls who would kill for hair like this," she tells her, pulling her hair from her hands. She begins to twist the front section back, pinning them in place and adding flowers from the pile she picked earlier. "Besides, I only maintain my colour because my dad and James hate it."

"But, you can pull off this. I'd look ridiculous," Lily says, waving Erica's scarlet lipstick about. She absent-mindedly bites her lips and reaches for another flower.

"Then feel blessed that you don't have to hide the ugly with make-up," she says and Lily laughs.

"Now you are lying. I can't believe that nothing has happened between you and James," she says.

Erica snorts and opens her wardrobe to decide what to wear. "Do you have any idea how much of an arsehole your boyfriend is? I love him to bits but I have no attraction to him whatsoever. You are more than welcome to him," she says and then stops. "We did kiss once. But he already liked you by then."

Lily shrugs. "I know he's an arsehole. I used to hate him but since we were made Head Boy and Girl, we got close. I think losing his parents changed him. What were they like?"

Erica sits on her bed and studies Lily. She stares back defiantly; her green eyes reaching deep into Erica's blue. This is a girl who just wants to know about her love's life, she realises. Erica is a key to her understanding if she would only let her in.

"Dorea always intimidated me," she says. "She had this hardness in her eyes like she never quite approved of me for some reason. Charlus was the complete opposite. He always smiled when he saw me and asked how my day had been. I liked him a lot. There was a gentleness to him I've yet to see in another person."

"That sounds like James," Lily says with a smile. She laughs and looks down at her hands.

"I wish you could have come to our school," she says suddenly. "You'd have made a good Slytherin."

"What?"

"We're split into Houses. James and I were in Gryffindor. Slytherin was another. It had a bit of a reputation for producing a bad lot but I know some who are good people. James' mother was a Slytherin."

Erica laughs shortly. "Thanks, I guess. Just because I dress like a rocker and dye my hair, I must be a rebel?" she asks.

Lily's eyes flick to the artwork stuck all over the far wall. Her eyes linger particularly on the paintings of the lost girl in white that Erica painted all those years ago when she felt like she had nobody in the world.

"No," she says. "My best friend for a long time was a Slytherin. I think he was the friend to me that you are to James."

"So why isn't he here?"

For a moment, Lily's face flickers with something like fear and once again Erica gets the sensation that she is missing a vital piece of the puzzle. Lily and James are hiding something from her.

No, it is more than that. It's almost like they expect her to have heard something. Like they expect something to have whispered to her about a gathering storm. There is nothing though. Life is like it always has been.

"He fell in with the bad lot," Lily says.

* * *

><p>Lily and James marry in the tiny church in the village square with Sirius and Erica as witnesses. Erica takes a picture of the other three on the church steps with Sirius' camera; a beautiful snapshot of the three of them laughing at a joke Sirius had made a moment before. They all then retire to the pub to celebrate the marriage.<p>

A few drinks in and Erica is feeling rather light-headed. She steps outside for a breath of fresh air and a cigarette. She thinks James is crazy to marry so young but she can see he and Lily love each other a lot.

The door of the pub opens behind her and James steps out. He sits next to her but coughs and scoots away slightly as she blows out a mouthful of smoke.

"Are you staying long?" she asks.

"No, we're moving on tomorrow. Lily wants to tell her family we've married which I can only imagine is going to down like a lead balloon," he says. "I wish you could meet her sister and her sister's fiancé. They are ridiculous. What are your plans? Staying here much longer?"

"Nope! I am going to art college," she says proudly. "In London. If I ever get around to finishing my application."

He tenses and looks at her, his face deadly serious. "You really want to go to London? It's not the safest place."

She dislikes his tone. "I know that. I was born there, remember?"

"Yes, but you lived in Islington in a lovely semi-detached, listed house and then your dad had a mental breakdown and you moved here," he sneers. "You don't have a clue what London is actually like."

"I know what I'm doing!" she snaps. "It's all arranged! If I get into this college, I'm going to go stay with my aunt for a bit until I can find a place of my own."

He shakes his head and grabs the cigarette out of her hand. Clearly, it's his first drag from the coughing fit he has as he exhales.

"Bet your missus won't like you smoking," she says snidely.

"Well, I'm sure she'd understand. You really have no fucking clue, do you?" he explodes.

That's the final straw. She stands and storms off across the village square, ignoring his plea to wait. He jogs after her and catches her arm but she shakes him off.

"I'm not a broken little girl who needs her best friend anymore!" she screams at him. "I finally know what I want to do with my life! Mum and Dad think I can't do it; it would be nice if I could get some support from someone!"

"That's not what I meant! You don't know who's out there-"

"What, drug dealers, alkies, _rapists?_ Big scary world out there and I am perfectly aware of it!"

"_Will you just shut up, you stupid Muggle!"_

Her words die in her throat and she takes a step back from him.

"What?" she whispers. She doesn't know that word, Muggle, but she doesn't like the way he says it.

He's crying. Crying and laughing at the same time. His shoulders shake as tears stream down his face.

"I swear if me and Lily ever have a daughter then I am going to have to name her Erica because you are literally the most impossible person ever!" he chokes out. He takes a deep breath, hands pressed against his face, and then looks right at her.

"If you go to London, you are going to die," he says. "There are people out there, very dangerous people, and they will kill you just because of who you are and who your family is."

She shakes her head. "That makes no sense! I've never attracted the attention of anyone like that. Is it because I'm friends with you? James, are you in some kind of trouble?"

His face is bitter. "They will kill you because you are a Muggle," he says.

She realises that she no longer recognises the person in front of her. He isn't her James; he's some stone-faced lookalike. She turns and runs again and this time he doesn't follow her. She runs away from the village, down to by the river and down to the oak tree. And she collapses into a heap and sobs her eyes out. In one argument, she feels thirteen years old again and terrified of what is to come. And this time, she doesn't even have James to make her feel better.

There isn't going to be a letter on her windowsill in the morning.

Someone comes down the path and sits next to her. After she continues to snuffle, the person sighs.

"I knew we should have sent Lily," Sirius grumbles. "I have no idea how to stop girls crying. Plenty of experience making them cry. Usually something along the lines of _But I thought you loved me!"_

She laughs and wipes the tears from her eyes. "Sorry. I just feel like nobody thinks I can do anything for myself."

"You shouldn't take it out on James," Sirius says. "He cares about you a lot; he just can't explain things to you and I think it's frustrating for both of you."

"Why can't he explain things to me? Because I'm a Muggle?" she spits. He looks at her sadly.

"Got it in one."

They sit in silence for a while. She leans against him and he slips an arm around her shoulders.

"What's a Muggle?" she asks.

"That's for James to tell to you," he says. "And since he doesn't want to tell you then I guess you'll never know."

"Well, that sucks."

"Hey, both me and Lily tried to talk him around. He got a bit sensitive and mumbled some story about when you fell out a tree."

She frowns. "I've never fallen out a tree."

He doesn't say anything. There isn't any noise except for the gurglings of the river.

"For what it's worth, I think you're pretty awesome," he says. She starts to laugh but is cut off as he kisses her. She runs her fingers through his hair as his hands slide up her body and, for a while, nothing matters except for the two of them under the oak tree down by the river.

* * *

><p>James apologises to her the next day. She hugs both him and Lily and waves them off, completely unaware that this will be the last time she ever sees them. They seem to vanish off the face of the earth and she never hears from them again. Sometimes she wonders if it was that last argument that did it but she knows in her heart that there was a larger picture she could not see. All she can do is hope that they are well and together, wherever they are.<p>

She sends off her application to the London art college and she gets in. But she doesn't go.

Circumstances can change, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>One more chapter to go. I'm not sure whether I will upload it tomorrow or Boxing Day, I'll see. <strong>

**Thank you to ArchangelInTheTardis and SassyDoe for the reviews last chapter.**

**Merry Christmas :)**


	11. 2017

The tiny bell by the door of the shop rings. The neatly-dressed man in the navy suit pauses on the threshold and takes a moment to stare around at the artwork everywhere. From watercolour landscapes to more modern abstracty things, the shop seems to have everything.

The shop owner appears from behind a curtain, brush and pallet in one hand. Paint is splashed on her neck and her baggy white shirt. Her white-blonde hair (dyed, he thinks, as opposed to natural) is tied back with a scarf and her scarlet lipstick surprisingly suits her aging appearance. She lays the pallet and brush down beside the register and smiles at him.

"Can I help you, love?" she says, wiping her hands on a scrap of material under the counter. "Looking for anything in particular?"

"Not art, unfortunately. I'm looking for a young boy by the name of Robert Hudson," he says.

"Robbie? He's my grandson. You're not police are you; he's not in trouble?" she asks, her brow twisting with worry.

"No, no. I'm a teacher, my name is Neville Longbottom, and I'm here to offer Robbie a place at my school," he says with a smile.

"A scholarship? I wasn't aware that Robbie had tried for any other schools. I thought he was just down for the local comprehensive," she says.

"I think he would be better suited at our institution. Can I see him, please?"

She nods and shows him through her studio at the back of the shop. There's a staircase at the back which she leads him up. In the sitting room at the top of the stairs, a boy is playing on a console. Something loud involving explosions and guns that makes her mouth twist with disapproval Neville can't help but notice.

"Robbie, this is Mr Longbottom. He's wants to talk to you about his school," she says. Her grandson fails to respond; he is far too absorbed in the game.

"Robbie. Robbie, did you hear me?" she says again, steel creeping into her voice. When he still doesn't respond, she grabs the remote and switches the television off. "Bloody disrespectful," she mutters. "Do you want a cuppa, Mr Longbottom?"

"Yes please, and please call me Neville," he says. His eyes flick back at the boy on the sofa. He's handsome for a boy his age. He has a long, thin face and short, dark curls, with the same bright blue eyes as his grandmother; eyes that he is using to glare at Neville suspiciously.

Speaking of the woman, she comes back through with a tea tray and pours him a cup of tea. "This is Neville. He's come to talk to you about a school you have a place at," she says with a glare at her grandson. She hands Neville his teacup and gestures towards the other sofa. He perches on it nervously with the tea in his lap as she sinks into a squishy armchair, her eyes still narrowed at her grandson.

"What is this about another school. As I said downstairs, I thought he was down for Brackenbrook Academy in town," she says. Neville nods.

"I think a person of Robbie's abilities would be better suited with us," he says. The boy starts to chuckle but is instantly silenced by a glare from his grandmother. Suppressing a smile as he remembers his own grandmother, Neville continues.

"Tell me, Robbie. Do weird things happen to you? Things you cannot explain when you are scared or surprised?"

The boy sits up a bit straighter. "Like when I was hit by the car and I just bounced away unharmed?" he asks. "Everyone said it was luck but there's been other stuff like Darren's nose and the school hamster."

He pauses.

"You... you're not a doctor? This isn't some special school for nutcases?" he asks. Neville laughs.

"No, no, nothing like that," he says. "Robbie, the reason why strange things happen to you is because you have magic. My school is a school for people like you, and me, where we can go to learn how to use and control our abilities."

The boy's eyes are wide and staring. "Magic? You think I'm a wizard or something?"

"You are indeed a wizard and you are going to a place with people just like you. You will receive one of the finest magical educations in the world at Hogwarts," Neville says.

The small crash of broken crockery cuts through the living room. Robbie's grandmother is white, her hands shaking and her broken tea cup by her feet.

"Nan?" Robbie asks and she gives herself a small shake.

"This Hogwarts," she says slowly, "it wouldn't... it wouldn't happen to be a castle in Scotland? With a lake and a Great Hall and greenhouses?"

Neville stares at her. "Yes, yes it is," he says. She slumps forward, her hands sliding over her face and her shoulders beginning to shake. Her giggle breaks out and she wipes tears out of her eyes.

"He was a wizard," she says to herself. "James, you slippery devil. You had magic. It all makes such sense now."

* * *

><p>Erica takes Robbie to London to buy his things for school and revels in the fun of discovering the magical world as much as her young grandson. The summer seems to fly by and, before they know it, they are walking between the platforms of Kings Cross Station and trying to find the magical entry to the platform for the Hogwarts Express.<p>

Platform 9&3/4, when they reach it, is packed with families and luggage. They find a gap in the platform and prepare to say goodbye.

Robbie throws his arms around her waist and squeezes as hard as he can.

"Hey, it'll be OK," she says. "You'll be back for Christmas before you know it. You better write me some letters; I didn't spend all that money on a bleeding owl for you not to use it."

She eyes the bird in its cage warily. Robbie had begged and begged as soon as he had seen the shop and she'd eventually relented and bought him what she personally thought to be an evil-eyed eagle owl.

Robbie laughs and steps back. "I will, Nan. I promise," he says.

"First year at Hogwarts?" a kind voice to her left says. They turn to see a smiling dark-haired woman standing a few steps away. "It's my son's first year as well," she says, laying a hand on the shoulder of a blond boy who strongly resembled the man just behind them.

"Robbie," Robbie says.

"Scorpius," the boy replies with a nod.

"There. You've found someone to sit with on the train," Erica says, squeezing Robbie's shoulder warningly as he chortles at the blond boy's name.

"Merlin's beard, it's the Potters and the Weasleys. Didn't realise they were all invading Hogwarts again," Scorpius' dad mutters, eyeing another family further down the platform. His wife sighs.

"Draco, please be civil," she says with the pain of someone who has sat through this scenario far too many times.

"I'm perfectly civil to Potter, it's Weasley who always brings it up," he snaps back. "Scorpius, don't you dare bother their kids. If I get one Howler off Weasley saying you've dared to breathe in his daughter's direction then you can say bye to your broomstick."

Scorpius rolls his eyes and shoots a sheepish grin to Robbie; a tiny interaction that will be the start of a great friendship. Robbie returns it with a lopsided grin of his own and then glances up.

"Nan?"

Erica is staring at the family Draco was so keen to avoid. Or more specifically, at the father of the family. He stands tall, a good six inches taller than she does, and his black hair sticks up at the back in the most annoying way ever. As if he can feel her staring, he looks round. Even from here, she can see his bright green eyes behind his glasses.

The bright green eyes of the girl she watched marry her best friend, the greatest friend she ever had, the man she named her own son after. And she is certain that the man she is staring at now is their son.

She smiles and nods politely. He does too and returns his attention back to his family.

"Nan?! Do you know him?" Robbie demands, touching her arm. She jumps and smiles at him.

"No, darling. He just looks like someone I knew once," she says.

She sees him off with a smile and a wave, politely declines an invitation for coffee from Scorpius' mother, Astoria, and starts the long drive back to the village. She parks outside the shop in her usual spot but doesn't go inside. _Life on Mars_ by Bowie blares out the CD player and she grins as she remembers drunkenly staggering across the field with James, Sirius and Remus, screaming the lyrics at the top of her lungs.

For the first time in years, she walks down by the river. She runs a hand over the bark of the old oak tree. Sitting down, she draws her knees up to her chest and shuts her eyes. She counts, slowly. A breeze blows across the back of her neck and makes the leaves of the tree above her dance. For a single moment, she is twelve again. Twelve years old and desperate for her best friend to come back from boarding school. The wind grows again and she is fifteen and smoking her tenth cigarette of the day, wondering if James' school has kids like her who smoke around the back of the bike sheds. And finally she is eighteen. She is eighteen and kissing the most gorgeous boy she has ever known while the best friend they share celebrates his first night as a married man.

Her eyes open and, in the setting sun, she swears she can see the bobbing heads of two children - one with black hair and one with honey blonde - romping and playing in the grass beyond the river.

"Down by the river is peaceful," she murmurs. "Down by the river, I can think about the ones I love."

* * *

><p><strong>And here we are at the end. I thought I would upload it today since it is Christmas. :)<strong>

**I started writing this in March and wrote off and on until it was finished. The actual idea is even older; except the original story was set in a single summer over about a week and was more summer-romancy. Since I seem better suited at tragedy than romance I decided to rewrite it.**

**I have tentative plans for a Next Generation fic involving Erica's grandson Robbie as an OC. Since I am terrible for abandoning fics, I won't start uploading until I have finished their first year. The fic's working title is _The Gathering Storm_ but this may change. I've got some really cool ideas, so I hope I can stick to it. :) In the mean time, I'm going to keep chipping at my unfinished Narnia fics.**

**Thanks to xXxVioletSkyxXx who read a few chapters and gave me some feedback when this was in its infancy. And thank you to everybody who has reviewed, followed, favourited, or even just read.**


End file.
